The Northern Lights

Chapter 12. Labour.

France, 2003

Azra pants, clenches her fingers around Eden's wrist so tightly he begins to lose circulation. Another yell of agony, Eden can't help but to look away. It has been six hours since Eden had arrived, since the awkward drive to the hospital with his mother. Azra's fingers begin to relax, her chest slows down. Eden skims back at her messy hair, her honey eyes, "You're doing great," he tells her. Azra wants to laugh, sarcastically ask him how he would know, but she is too exhausted, is barely able to maintain her breath.

Edith waits outside in the lobby, begins to think of ways to greet Azra, brainstorm how to persuade Ivre into accepting the mother of his soon to be grandchild, that she could be God's choice for Eden. Sitting across from her is a little girl whose throat is scratchy, eyes dull with fatigue. She coughs again, harder this time. Her mother's hand slides along her back. The child clenches her stomach, uncontrollably wheezes for air. Edith wishes she could magically heal her, wonders how many times Eden was sick without his mother stroking his back.

Another contraction. "Fuck!" she screeches. Eden wonders if the baby heard his mother swear, if that was the first word he would ever be exposed to. He grins.

The midwife's gloves are no longer snow-white as she speaks, "I think," she pauses, interrupted by another shriek, Eden's wrist becomes numb, "It's a boy!" Eden's teeth shine underneath the hospital light.

Her intense cries have died down. Eden asks for permission to leave the room, like one of Azra's students needing to use the bathroom. As soon as he exits the operating room, he can't help but jump and squeal. A nurse walks past, the shadows under her eyes are intense, her lips stay linear. Eden follows the signs that lead him to the waiting lobby, where his mother has fallen asleep on one of the mint blue chairs. Half her face is muted in a shade of darkness while the other half is dully lit by the lamp that stands on the four-legged table beside her. Eden is surrounded by other grim, tired faces, but to him, his mama is the only one that meets the eye.

The soles of his shoes are no longer leave thin imprints of water as he steps towards Edith. The indistinguishable conversations between patients, visitors and nurses follow him like a shadow. He taps Edith on the shoulder lightly, "Mama..."

Her eyes sluggishly open, she yawns, stretches her arms as wide as they go, "Yes?"

"It's a boy," he says, with a glint of exhilaration in his eye and a row of exposed teeth below his crinkled lips.

Edith reminisces about the night she gave birth to the man in front of her, who she still considers a boy, an aventurier, "What's his name?"

Eden is so sleep deprived that he barely understood the question, "We're not sure yet, Azra's still in labour." Each syllable is slurred.

"She'll be in there for a while, you should get some rest."

He is disoriented, body in a cold sweat of fatigue. The high he rode just seconds ago has crashed. He tries turning around but is unable to direct himself in the right direction, the hallway he walked through before has doubled. Edith sits her son down, "Sleep. I'll wake you when the child arrives."

As much as Eden wants to, his legs can no longer support him, they too tremble with fatigue, "Okay" he mutters.

They sit, side by side, mother and son, soon to be grandparent and father. Eden's eyes are finally concealed with darkness, his mind stops spinning. His tapered hair begins to rustle against Edith's arm as his head begins tumbles on her shoulder. She asks a nurse for a blanket, lays it onto her son. She can't help but allow her faintly wrinkled cheeks to curl up. Eden begins to snore timidly; his mama pats his back. Her and her son are reunited rocks anticipating the arrival of another piece of tephra. No. She thinks to herself. Eden does not wait for rocks. He waits for mountains.